


Why Arthur Drinks Alone

by Siyah_Kedi



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Arthur drinks and starts stripping, F/M, M/M, Truth or Dare, filterless Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 14:47:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14107683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siyah_Kedi/pseuds/Siyah_Kedi
Summary: There was a very good reason Arthur only drank when he was alone, regardless of what others said about it being the first warning sign of alcoholism.





	Why Arthur Drinks Alone

There was a very good reason Arthur only drank when he was alone, regardless of what others said about it being the first warning sign of alcoholism.   

 

Because of that, sitting in a bar with Ariadne, Cobb, and Eames, he limited himself to water and proclaimed that he was the designated driver.  When Eames tried to point out that they were calling a cab regardless because none of them  _ actually had a car _ , Arthur waved him off.  At some point they replaced his water with vodka, and it was a testament to his irritation with his team-mates – one muscular Brit in particular – that he didn’t even realise it until the first huge swallow was already down his throat.  

 

Choking, he slammed the glass down on the table they were sharing and glared at Eames – the most likely perpetrator – while Ariadne unhelpfully whacked him on the back.  

 

“Don’t look at me, darling,” Eames said, raising his hands defensively.  When Arthur got his breath back, it was Cobb who looked faintly guilty. 

 

“Sorry, Arthur,” the extractor said, looking anything but.  “This is supposed to be our  _ relaxation _ time.  That means you need to loosen up and  _ relax _ .”

 

“Oh, because killing me with vodka is the way to do that,” Arthur snapped at him, and _fuck_ it had been such a long time since he’d had anything harder than a wine cooler, even the one swallow was going to his head even as it burned pleasantly in his stomach.  Eyeing the glass as if it had offended him, Arthur took a deep breath. “If any of you hold this night against me I will personally hunt you down and _shoot_ _you_ ,” he promised, and then threw caution to the wind.  Ariadne was the only one who looked even vaguely impressed by his threat, but Eames added his own uniquely captivated look when Arthur picked up the glass of vodka and threw it back in one swallow.  It was easier to do now that he was expecting it. 

 

“I didn’t realise you drank, Arthur,” Ariadne said when he set the empty glass down.  

 

“Not usually.”  Fuck, it was hot in the bar now, with so many bodies pressed into such a small space, especially adding the searing heat of the alcohol in his stomach.  Arthur reached up and slid out of his jacket before peeling off his tie and undoing some of the buttons of his shirt. 

 

“Christ, Arthur, keep your clothes on,” Cobb warned, voice low enough that neither of the other two heard him.  Eames was staring at him with a blatantly appraising look, but Arthur ignored it for the most part. 

 

Arthur eyed the levels in the other’s glasses, and scowled.  If he was going to  _ relax _ he was bloody well going to need more alcohol.  “I’ll be right back,” he said, and checked his pocket for his wallet before he rose and excused himself to the bar.  

 

“Thought you were sticking to water,” the bartender – a slender young man of about twenty, with tousled blond hair and unashamedly assessing blue eyes – commented when he ordered a tall glass of SoCo and coke.  

 

“They shoved vodka at me,” Arthur said.  “More Southern than cola, please.” While the boy worked, Arthur let his eyes trail over his slim form.  Any other time he might have seen about asking him back to his hotel when his shift was done, or hell, even into one of the bathroom stalls for a quickie on his cigarette break.  He restrained himself from making the offer, however – just because he was ‘letting loose’ it didn’t mean he needed to be picking up younger men in a bar  _ with his team _ .  Belatedly, he realised the boy had been staring back at him in the mirror behind the bar.  Suddenly self-conscious – he  _ knew _ what he was like when he was drinking, dammit! – he shifted his gaze and realised they had cigarettes for sale as well.  He always needed to smoke when he drank, and he figured the others could  _ damn well deal with it _ for tricking him into drinking.  He ordered a pack of menthols and the bartender slipped them across the bar with a note.

 

“I don’t get off until after we’re closed tonight, but call me sometime,” he said, a blatantly flirtatious smile on his face.  Arthur had no intentions of ever showing his face in this bar ever again, but he took the note and pocketed it so as to not seem rude.  

 

On his way back to the table, he realised that Ariadne and Eames had switched seats while he was gone, leaving the architect beside their extractor and putting Eames solidly beside Arthur.  Ariadne whistled when he returned with a lit cigarette in his mouth. “Arthur, goodness, when Dom said relax I didn’t realise it meant you’d been replaced with a pod person.”

 

“Alcohol makes me crave nicotine,” Arthur said, and settled his drink on the coaster before sitting down and pulling an ashtray towards him.  

 

“What are you drinking?” Ariadne pressed.  

 

“What does it look like?”

 

Ariadne wrinkled her nose.  “Soda. Did you really order a  _ soda _ at a  _ bar _ ?”

 

Arthur pushed it at her.  “Give it a try and see if you can tell me what I ordered,” he demanded, hoping that they’d all get drunk enough to forget what he was like when he was drinking.  Ariadne obediently reached across the table and took a sip. The look on her face as she coughed and choked – much as Arthur had when he’d picked up his water and gotten vodka – was worth it. 

 

“Jesus fuck, Arthur, what  _ is _ that?”

 

Arthur didn’t answer right away because Cobb was stealing his drink – apparently this was Arthur’s Drinks Are Public Property Day – and taking a sip of his own.

 

“Jesus fuck in _ deed _ ,” Cobb said, his eyes watering.  “Coke and… something else. Jesus.”

 

“Really?  Neither of you can tell?  Eames, surely your palate is more refined than these two.”  Christ, was he offering his drink to  _ Eames _ now?  

 

Even as the words were coming out of his mouth, he knew hadn’t had nearly enough alcohol to keep from praying with all his might,  _ Please, god, let this night be purged from their memories.   _

 

Eames shoved aside his beer and took up the glass, taking what seemed to be a long drink but which Arthur – keeping an eye on the level of liquid – noticed was just incredibly slow.  “Southern Comfort,” he said when he handed the glass back with an awkward twist. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for it, darling,” Eames added. 

 

“Eames wins,” Arthur announced, and then wanted to crawl into a hole and die.  He covered his sudden blush with a long pull on his drink. 

 

“Really?  What do I win?” 

  
Arthur set the glass down and noticed there were only three sets of lip-prints on the rim.  Ariadne’s were slightly pink from her gloss, Cobb left the waxy residue of his chapstick behind, and – Arthur’s face flamed as he realised the turn of Eames’ wrist handing the glass back had been him making sure Arthur drank from the same side as he had.  It felt like a third grade trick, and he briefly felt like wiping his mouth – having indirectly shared lip contact with Eames – but covered up the urge by taking a drag off his cigarette, which gave him the idea. “A smoke,” he offered, and pulled another cigarette from the pack and rolling it across the table.  Eames took it up and looked at it for a moment, then bummed Arthur’s lighter. 

 

Ariadne wanted one too, but Arthur refused.  

 

“I’m not even sure you’re old enough to drink,” he teased.  “You certainly shouldn’t be smoking.” The light glinted off Eames’ eyes and white teeth as he took in the sight of Arthur being so… un-Arthurish.  Immediately, Arthur wanted to stuff the words back into his mouth, but Ariadne had gotten everyone’s attention by whining.

 

“I’m totally old enough to be smoking  _ and _ drinking,” she insisted.  “Give me one. Please? Do I have to answer any questions?  Hey, let’s play a drinking game!”

 

“Truth or dare,” Cobb said, suddenly entering into the conversation.  Arthur unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and indelicately shoved the sleeves up his arms.  It was  _ so hot _ .  He undid another button at the collar, too, and missed Ariadne’s reaction to Cobb’s suggestion because Cobb was leaning in again, muttering, “Clothes  _ on _ , Arthur, we’re in public still!”

 

“They will never find your body,” Arthur promised, and took another drink.  Before they even managed to decide who would start the game, his glass was empty and he returned to the bar for another one.

 

“Just like before, love,” Arthur said, the endearment slipping out as naturally as it rolled from Eames’ lips.  The only difference was Eames had that ridiculously darling accent that made up for a lot of social gaffes, and Arthur was only on his way to getting buzzed.  The bartender – whose nametag read  _ Mamoru _ – looked delighted.  

 

“Your money’s no good for this drink,” Mamoru informed him, and leaned over the bar.  Arthur realised the slight lilt to the boy’s accent was Asian, and the increased proximity brought out the tilt to his eyes and the shape of his cheekbones.  Japanese, if Arthur was any good at reading faces, at least half.

 

“Oh?”

 

“Oh no.  For  _ this _ drink, you’ll have to kiss me or you’re not getting it.”  

 

By this time the alcohol was swimming pleasantly through his veins – not nearly enough to be drunk yet, but just enough to put a pleasant haze over everything and bring out the colours that surrounded him.  Kissing this attractive bartender seemed like the best possible thing in the world. Arthur leaned forward and kissed him, noting how nicely they fit together. He pulled back and imagined those huge blue eyes staring up at him while those soft coral lips wrapped around his dick – 

 

“Arthur, darling, really?”  

 

Arthur could have shot Eames, he really could.  Especially with the proprietary way he’d put his hand down on the bar between Arthur and the bartender.   _ Especially _ with the disapproving look he was shooting the lithe young blond.  He collected Arthur’s drink and absconded with it back to the table. 

 

“Boyfriend?” Mamoru asked, and Arthur could see the horrified look that passed over his face in the mirror behind the bar.  That was answer enough for them both, and Mamoru laughed. “It happens. Next one’s on the house,” he promised. “For the lovely kiss,” he added, and Arthur watched his mouth ease into a sensual smile.  

 

“Thank you,” he said, when he’d stared just a few seconds too long and watched the smile turn smug.  He retreated back to the table to find Eames taking a long drag on the cigarette he’d won, looking sullen.  Arthur’s drink was sitting on the coaster, and his empty glass was sitting at the end of the table waiting for the waitress to come by and pick it up.  

 

“What took you so long?” Ariadne asked, and before Arthur could even organise his thoughts into something coherent, Eames butted in.

 

“Chatting up the bartender,” he said, and his tone was snarky enough to draw even Cobb’s attention to him.  It didn’t last long.

 

“Arthur, are you  _ gay? _ ”  Ariadne blurted out.  And everyone at the table – and all five tables within earshot of Ariadne’s entirely-too-loud exclamation – turned to stare at him.

 

“Of course not,” Arthur snapped at her.  “I’m bisexual. I see absolutely no reason to limit myself to a single gender when both men and women have something beautiful and tempting to offer.”  His mouth slammed shut then, before anything else could come racing out of it, and then he stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray. “Excuse me,” he said, rising.  “I need to go shoot myself in the head now.”

 

Cobb grabbed hold of his wrist on one side and Eames hooked two fingers into his belt loops on the other and between them they managed to get him back into his seat before he could get away.  

 

“Well now, darling,” Eames said appreciatively, and Arthur glared at him.

 

“You are not drinking enough,” he said, domineeringly.  “You have to get so drunk that you forget this night even happened and wake up tomorrow wondering how you lost an entire day.”  Arthur buried his face in his hands as soon as he finished speaking. Christ, where did his  _ filters _ go?  It was just  _ alcohol _ for god’s sake, plenty of people could drink without letting their every thought stream out of their mouths and this was patently ridiculous.

 

“As you wish, darling,” Eames said, and finished off his beer.  “I’ll be right back,” he added. “I need to get another drink and  _ not _ make out with underage bartenders.”  He set his half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray with a pointed look at Arthur.

 

“I was not making out with him,” Arthur said, but Eames was already moving away, so Arthur stole his cigarette and managed to smoke it down to the filter before he got back.  

 

“So, Truth or Dare,” Ariadne said when they’d all refilled their drinks.  “Arthur, you first.”

 

“Truth, obviously,” he said, not having had nearly enough to drink to risk whatever dare she might require of him.  

 

“Were you  _ really _ making out with the bartender?”

 

Arthur squirmed.  “It wasn’t making out,” he hedged.  “It was a kiss for the drink, and there was no tongue involved because  _ someone _ interrupt-”  He cut himself off, mouth snapping shut.  “Cobb, truth or dare?” He tried not to meet Ariadne’s shining eyes as she shifted her gaze between Arthur and the boy behind the bar. 

 

“Truth.”

 

“What the hell made you think this was a good idea?”

 

“It’s been forever since we all went out together in a non-work related environment.  Eames, truth or dare?”

 

Eames lit up another cigarette, drawing Arthur’s attention to the fact that his pack had disappeared at some point.  He glared at the forger, who had the good grace to look abashed as he slid the pack back across the table at him. Arthur put one in his mouth and one behind his ear, but wasn’t fast enough to stop Ariadne from snatching the pack off the table next.  “Dare,” Eames rumbled, and Arthur realised that at some point Eames had lost his jacket as well. He surreptitiously pulled his dress shirt from his pants, not even caring that it was wrinkled around the edges where it had spent the entire day being tucked in.  

 

Cobb glanced at Arthur, scowled briefly as he took in Arthur’s increasing state of dishabille, and then said to Eames, “Finish your drink, you’re not drunk enough.”  Eames obligingly picked up his beer and finished it off before retreating back to the bar for another.

 

“You are a good friend,” Arthur said to Cobb.

 

“Keep your clothes on,” Cobb said, the edges of his voice tinged with anxiety.  

 

-o0o-

 

An indeterminate amount of time later – at least five drinks, and Arthur was well on his way to being totally shit-faced – the game had progressed to blatantly sexual references.

 

“Arthur,” Ariadne said.

 

“Truth,” Arthur offered, on his way there but still not drunk enough to risk a dare.

 

“Do you want to kiss Eames?”

 

“What?   _ No! _ ”  But the question drew his attention to Eames’ mouth, wrapped suggestively around a cigarette.  “Maybe,” he amended. “Cobb?”

 

“Truth.”  

 

“Have you ever slept with anyone besides Mal?”

 

“Yes.  Eames?”

 

“Dare.”

 

Ariadne interrupted at this point to whisper something in Cobb’s ear.  He nodded. “I was going to,” he said, and then looked Eames dead in the eye.  “Kiss Arthur.”

 

“Gladly.”

 

Arthur squawked.  “What? What?”

 

And then Eames was turning, two fingers back in Arthur’s belt loops with an insistent tug that Arthur was powerless to resist.  Eames’ free hand came up behind Arthur’s neck and then their lips were together and Arthur felt every bone in his body turn to water.  His hands came up on their own to rest on Eames’ shoulders – broad,  _ firm _ shoulders,  _ God _ – to hold himself up.  Eames’ tongue flickered over his lips and Arthur’s mouth dropped open at the silent request, and then Eames’  _ tongue _ was in his  _ mouth _ – 

 

_ I refuse to take responsibility for that noise, _ Arthur thought as the helpless whimper escaped their lip-lock.  When it was echoed a moment later, they broke apart to stare at Ariadne, who was unabashedly staring at them in turn.

 

“God, that was hot,” she breathed, fanning herself.  “I had no idea.”

 

“Ariadne, your turn,” Eames said, sounding determinedly unruffled.  Arthur huffed.

 

“Truth,” she said weakly.

 

“Is your hand down your trousers right now?”

 

“What?  No! Dom’s is.”

 

Arthur and Eames shared a look of identical horror, and Cobb actually looked embarrassed, coughing slightly before putting both his hands very noticeably on the table where they were in plain sight and very clearly not feeling up their architect under the table.  Arthur jumped as Eames’ hand connected with his knee, right before a lilting rumble came in at his ear – “Not a bad idea, hm?” – and Arthur was treated to the rare and unexpected challenge of having to pretend Eames’ hand wasn’t stroking up his inseam in the middle of a smoke-filled bar, right in front of his co-workers.    Ariadne not-so-subtly zipped up her jeans, scowling. 

 

“Arthur,” she snapped.

 

“Dare,” he whispered as Eames’ hand drifted higher.  

 

“You are now required to sit in Eames’ lap for the rest of the night,” she declared.  Arthur squawked again, but before he could protest, Eames had both hands on his waist.

 

“Well, this’ll make things easier, won’t it darling?” was all he said, before bodily lifting Arthur out of his chair and into the forger’s lap.  Arthur could feel the burgeoning erection through Eames’ ill-fitting pants, and jerked when Eames immediately returned his hand to its previous position on his thigh.  “Mm, don’t do that again,” Eames warned.

 

“Then get your hand off my leg,” Arthur hissed, trying desperately to ignore both his flaming face and Ariadne’s open-mouthed panting at the sight.  He’d never have pegged Ariadne for a voyeur, but it was true what they said about learning something new every day.

 

He just wished he wasn’t learning it about people he was going to have to  _ work with _ in the morning.  Another round went around the table, the truths suddenly getting more interesting than the dares.  There wasn’t, after all, much that could be done in a public bar, smoke-screen or not. Especially after Arthur finished unbuttoning his shirt and slid it off to reveal the decidedly unclassy wife-beater he wore underneath.  Cobb squawked at him to stop stripping, Ariadne looked delighted, and Eames chuckled behind him. The sound rumbled up and down Arthur’s body, pressed as he was against the forger’s broad chest. 

 

“Stop squirming like that, darling, unless you want to give dear Ariadne a better show,” Eames warned, and Arthur dropped the shirt and became stone-still in Eames’ arms.  

 

“Arthur, truth?”

 

“Yes,” Arthur panted as Eames’ wandering hand came dangerously close to the junction of his thighs.  

 

“Where’s the weirdest place you’ve ever had sex?”

 

“Bent over my parent’s – ah!”  He was going  _ to murder Eames _ .  The forger had given up any pretence of flirting with his touches and simply laid his hand – his hot, sturdy,  _ large _ hand – directly on the hardness of Arthur’s cock, rubbing gently through the thin material of his slacks.  Arthur trembled, struggling for control between the alcohol he’d had and Eames’ skilful fingers. “Bent,” he tried again.  “Bent over my parent’s kitchen table. While they were in the living room watching television.”

 

“It was with a boy?”  

 

Arthur turned his head and caught the tail end of Eames’ grin flashing white in the near-darkness.  “Yes of course,” Arthur said, breathless. “I’m not into pegging.”

 

Eames said, “Into  _ what _ ?”

 

Ariadne gasped.  “Oh god, ew!”

 

Cobb flagged down a waitress.  “We need to leave,” he told her.  “Can we get the check here?”


End file.
